Walking Dead

Me. I mean, me. I am the walking dead. Not the show.

I am tired.

What's new?

The King is suffering from a bad case of the molars again. His first is through but the other three are swollen little pricks that won't just call it a day and join the party. He was sent home from daycare yesterday and is home again today. I didn't even bother trying to leave him there this morning. He was squeezing my neck so hard and wrapped his little legs around my waist so tight that you would have needed Papa Bear and maybe a grandpa, to tear him away.

I was talking to one of my dearest friends yesterday and she mentioned her infant is now sleeping through the night. Woohoo!!! I'm stoked for her, for real. But part of me is pretty jealous. Really jealous. We NEVER sleep through the night in this house. Never. I was up twice with him last night and on average, I probably get three to four hour increments of sleep.

I don't know where I came up with the notion that motherhood would be a walk in the park. I obviously understood that there would be many challening moments and things I needed to learn but I thought overall, I got this. I know how to take care of people and love them and all that jazz.

Wrong.

So wrong.

Babies are difficult little creatures. First, they can't communicate. Second, they can't communicate. I'm literally left guessing all day. Why is he whining? Why won't he eat? Is he hot? Do his teeth hurt? Does he hate me? Why won't you sleeeeeeeeeeeeep?

Then you pile on all the other responsibilities and you may as well forget sleeping all together.

I'm whining. I'm sorry. But it has been a rough couple of days with The King, work, this house, the garden, the dog, missing chickens, sore body parts and exhaustion.

Boo.

I wouldn't trade it for anything but man, some days I could just use a break. I don't need such a long string of hard days. I can handle two in a row but more than that turns me into a beast.